The beaver is so intelligent that he is one of the most difficult animals in the world to entrap.  Marvellous stories are told by the hunters of his sagacity.  Many of the Indians believe that the beavers have human intelligence.  They say that the only difference between the beaver and the Indian, is that the latter has been endowed by the Great Spirit with capabilities to catch the former.

Among these bleak, barren, gigantic ridges there are many lovely valleys to be found, scores of miles in length and width.  Here are found two extensive natural parks, of extraordinary beauty.  Apparently no landscape gardener could have laid them out more tastefully.  There are wide-spread lawns, sometimes level as a floor, sometimes gently undulating, smooth, green and at times decorated with an almost inconceivable brilliance of flowers.  Here and there groves are sprinkled, entirely free from underbrush.  There are running streams and crystal lakelets.  Birds of brilliant plumage sport upon the waters.  Buffaloes, often in immense numbers, crop the luxuriant herbage.  Deer, elks and antelopes bound over these fields, reminding one of his childish visions of Paradise.  In the streams otter and beaver find favorite haunts.

During the winter, as business was a little dull, Kit Carson and four of his companions set off on a private hunting expedition.  They were gone about six weeks.  Soon after their return, in the latter part of January, a party of Crow Indians, one very dark night, succeeded in stealthily approaching the camp and in driving off nine of the animals which were grazing at a short distance.  It was not until morning that the loss was discovered.

As usual Kit Carson was sent, at the head of twelve men, in pursuit of the thieves.  They selected their best horses, for it was certain that the Indians would make no delay in their flight.  It was found quite difficult to follow their trail, for, during the night, a herd of several thousand buffaloes had crossed and recrossed it, quite trampling it out of sight.  Still the sagacity of Carson triumphed, and after being baffled for a short time, he again with certainty struck the trail.

For forty miles the pursuit was continued with much vigor.  The horses then began to give out.  Night was approaching.  Carson thought it necessary to go into camp till morning, that the horses might be refreshed and recruited.  There was a grove near by.  Just as they were entering it for their sheltered encampment, Kit Carson saw the smoke of Indian fires at no great distance in advance of him.  He had no doubt that the smoke came from the encampment of the party he was pursuing.

The Indians had fled from the north.  Of course it would be from the north that they would look for the approach of their pursuers.  The southern borders of their camp would consequently be less carefully guarded.  The trappers remained quietly in their hiding-place until midnight.  They then took a wide circuit, so as to approach the Indians from the south.  The savages seemed to have lost all fear of pursuit, for the gleam of their triumphal fires shone far and wide, and the shouts of their barbaric revelry resounded over the prairie.